


imperfection

by dozmuffinxc



Series: catch me as i fall [4]
Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Cuddling, F/F, Light Angst, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-20
Updated: 2018-11-20
Packaged: 2019-08-26 18:47:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16686952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dozmuffinxc/pseuds/dozmuffinxc
Summary: “Awww, babe,” Hurley murmured into Sloane’s shirt, “you’re going to take care of me?”





	imperfection

Sloane pulled her coat close as she shouldered open the door to the garage. Her boots cracked through a thin layer of ice on the threshold, and it took a remarkable feat of agility to remain standing as the soles of her boots slipped on the slick surface. Winter in Goldcliff was never pleasant – there were few windbreaks in this cliff-side town, and when golden autumn gave way to its silver sister, she came not with grace but with fury. This year, though, seemed especially harsh, so much so that the wagon races had been suspended until further notice.

 _Absolutely ridiculous,_ Sloane muttered under her breath. 

A little bit of ice on the track was nothing – a challenge, even! It would have made the competition more exciting. She didn’t enjoy the prospect of revealing the news to Hurley, either: her partner was, if anything, even more enthusiastic about the match. Sloane felt her lips twitch in a barely-suppressed grin as she remembered how Hurley had tossed and turned after last week’s qualifying race, waking Sloane at intervals to propose a new maneuver.

She had barely set foot inside before realizing that something was wrong. Frost glistened on the windowpanes and her breath billowed in front of her as a curse formed on her lips. The stove was dark, the grate unlit, and the garage was just as cold – no, colder – than the air outside. 

_Hurley should have been here by now,_ Sloane fumed. The lieutenant had early shifts on Mondays, and ever since the cold front set in, she had never failed to light the fires and put on a kettle of hot water by the time Sloane stamped in from whatever morally-questionable job she had been on that day. It wasn’t like her to be late.

Irritation melted into a gradual, creeping concern as long minutes passed, then half an hour, and still Hurley was nowhere to be seen. Flames roared in the stove now and the heavy garage door and double-paned windows kept out the draft, but a sharp, prickling cold had settled in Sloane’s chest that had nothing to do with the weather.

Five minutes later, Sloane was locking the garage behind her, gritting her teeth against a blast of wind that seemed to blow from all directions at once. Another fifteen minutes and Sloane was standing in front of the headquarters of the Goldcliff militia, knocking snow from her boots and steeling herself for the unpleasantness within.

Sloane had been to Hurley’s work only twice before. Contrary to Hurley’s assertion that any rational thief would think twice before setting foot there, Sloane harbored no fear of being taken into custody. Most of Hurley’s coworkers were incompetent buffoons hired more for their brawn than their brains, but even Captain Bane would have been hard-pressed to connect his best lieutenant’s quiet, keen-eyed girlfriend with the Raven.

No, it wasn’t the threat of discovery that made Sloane’s back straighten and her heart beat just a fraction faster than normal. It was the look of naked judgment on the face of the dragon-born secretary at the front desk, the whispers from a gaggle of orc patrolmen sharing cups of coffee in the break room, the appraising glance and the accompanying smirk from the half-elf intern carrying a stack of files that Sloane wanted so badly to smack from their hands.

Hurley insisted that they were all jealous.

“Have you looked in the mirror lately, babe?” Hurley had grinned, elbowing Sloane in the side as they walked back to the garage in the half-light of early evening one day.

Sloane was more inclined to think that the lot of them were an unapologetic bunch of homophobic shit-stains, but everyone at headquarters seemed to treat Hurley with respect if not outright affection. Maybe – _not that it mattered,_ Sloane told herself – they didn’t think she was good enough for their lieutenant. For all they knew, she was just a back-alley mechanic who left oil smudges on Hurley’s cheek when she came by to pick her girlfriend up for lunch. 

Maybe they were right.

Sloane clenched and unclenched her fists as she stalked down the hall towards Hurley’s office, avoiding the eyes of the officers just starting their morning shift. She nearly toppled two separate clerks delivering case files before finding Hurley’s door unlocked and the room within dark. She had almost turned away in frustration before the soft sound of snoring made her pause and squint into the gloom.

Bent over her desk with her head on her arms, Hurley was fast asleep. Judging by the pile of wrinkled papers and the pen still clutched in the slack fingers of her right hand, she must have dozed off in the middle of writing up a report. She didn’t stir when Sloane stepped around the desk and bent over, chuckling quietly, to plant a kiss on her forehead. 

To Sloane’s surprise, Hurley’s skin was unnaturally warm. Frowning, she bent down to shake the halfling gently by the shoulders, noting as she did the rasping quality to the other woman’s snores and the light stains of sweat around her collar.

“Hurley,” she whispered, and when she got no response, she repeated herself louder still.

“Hmmm?”

Hurley lifted her head slowly from the desk and turned bleary eyes on Sloane.

“H-hey, babe,” she said, her voice thick with sleep. “What are you doing here? Is everything okay?”

“You didn’t show up this morning,” Sloane said, brow furrowed. 

“I must have fallen asleep after my shift,” Hurley replied sheepishly. “I’m so sorry. Were you worried?”

“Of course I was worried,” Sloane said sharply, but the edge faded from her voice at the sight of Hurley’s tousled hair and the imprint of faded ink on her cheek. “Come on. I can think of much more comfortable places for a nap than this desk.”

“Oh, can you?” Hurley smirked in a way that would have been suggestive had it not been accompanied almost immediately by a massive sneeze that left her red-cheeked with embarrassment and groping in her pocket for a handkerchief.

“You should go home,” Sloane said, pushing down the regret that welled up in her chest at the thought of returning to the garage alone. “You sound terrible.”

“What?” Hurley said, tucking the crumpled handkerchief back into the pocket of her robes. “I’m fine; it’s just so dusty in here. It’s been ages since I let anyone in to do a real cleaning. If I wasn’t so worried they’d mess up my system,” she paused for effect, gesturing around at the stacks of case files stacked precariously on her desk, “I wouldn’t have to do it myself.”

Sloane was skeptical, but Hurley seemed fine as she threw her satchel over her shoulder and strode out the door. As they walked down the hall through rows of desks occupied by junior patrol officers, Hurley slipped her hand into Sloane’s, and the glow that radiated from their interlaced fingers drove all other thoughts from her mind.

As they walked, Sloane carefully broached the subject of the cancelled race. It was hard to summon up the ire to be too irritated when Hurley’s hip was pressed against hers, but Sloane was surprised when the news elicited barely a moue from the otherwise-silent halfling. By the time they reached the garage, Sloane knew something was terribly wrong.

“Hurley,” she hissed as they stepped into the light of the garage where a crackling fire still glowed in the grate, “you’re shivering!”

Hurley couldn’t deny it. Her whole body was trembling with the cold despite her heavy, wool cloak, and when Sloane half-guided, half-carried her to a chair near the stove, she didn’t protest.

“How long have you been like this?” Sloane growled, shades of panic creeping into her voice. “I saw you yesterday!”

Hurley sighed and leaned into the fire’s warmth.

“I didn’t sleep last night. There was an emergency in the factory district: a warlock had holed up there with his experiments, and one of them got loose. It was… I mean, it was pretty bad, Sloane. We contained it quickly enough, but there were already a lot of casualties. Once the workers going on shift were brought under control, I had my work cut out for me seeing to the wounded.”

“And you were the only one capable of doing that?” Sloane said, her voice low and dangerous.

“At the time? Yes! I wasn’t going to wait for the healers: gods only know when they would have gotten there. It would have been too late for some of them! I couldn’t – you know I couldn’t do that, Sloane! Maybe I should go home, after all.”

As she spoke, Hurley lurched to her feet, but she hadn’t made it more than two steps before her knees gave out and she slumped into Sloane’s waiting arms, exhausted.

“I’m sorry,” Sloane said, “you’re right. But you need to rest, and there’s no way you’re leaving in this state.”

“Awww, babe,” Hurley murmured into Sloane’s shirt, “you’re going to take care of me?”

“Yes,” Sloane replied as she hooked her right arm under Hurley’s legs and cradled the halfling against her chest. 

Even with their respective clothes between them, she could feel the heat of the other woman’s fever pulsing like a heartbeat, and she cursed herself silently for letting the signs go unnoticed. Carrying her into the small living space behind the garage, Sloane paused just long enough to strip off Hurley’s sweaty robe and replace it with a spare tunic from her own closet. It was far too big for the halfling, but at least it was clean. Tucking her into bed, Sloane pushed an extra pillow under the other woman’s head and then hurried to the small kitchenette to put a kettle on.

“You don’t have to make such a fuss,” Hurley called from the bed, but her claim was undermined by a fresh bout of coughing that left her winded. She didn’t refuse when Sloane pressed a glass of water on her, nor did she protest when the cup was replaced a few minutes later by a mug of heavily-honeyed tea.

For the next few hours, Sloane hovered at the bedside while Hurley dozed. She never slept for long, and when she did, she was woken soon after by her own barking cough. Sloane worked hard to tamp down the worry that felt like a ten pound weight on her chest as she kept the fire stoked and, when she was restless, rubbing Hurley’s back with gentle, calloused fingers.

Hurley awoke later to the sound of logs being added to the fire. Darkness had settled in outside and moonlight, pale and cool, stretched across the room to mingle with the light of the flames. She felt a strange but comforting pressure on her chest; reaching down, she found a warm flannel that smelled strongly of mint on her chest, spreading heat out across her rib cage.

“Where did you learn to make poultices?” Hurley asked, her voice oddly breathy.

Sloane stood next to the fireplace with her back to Hurley for a moment before answering.

“Healing potions are expensive,” she said, stepping slowly out of the fire’s glow, “and tallow is easy to come by. There weren’t many other options when… when I was young. We learned early how to use folk remedies and when we were lucky, they were effective.”

Hurley turned this information around in her mind. She knew so little about Sloane’s childhood, and every reluctant revelation felt like a puzzle piece sliding into place.

“That’s why I became a monk, you know,” she said, rubbing small circles into her temples with her fingertips. “My parents died when I was just a kid. They just got sick one winter and never got better. My aunt and her wife raised me, but I never forgot what it felt like to be so helpless when people I cared about were hurt. I didn’t ever want that to happen again.”

“I didn’t know that,” Sloane said, easing into a chair at Hurley’s bedside. As Hurley sank back into the pillows, Sloane ran a hand through the halfling’s curls, eliciting a tiny groan of pleasure.

“That feels so good,” Hurley murmured sleepily. “Don’t stop.”

Sloane smiled. “I won’t.”

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next time Hurley opened her eyes, dazzling winter sunshine was pouring through the window. Judging by the slant of light, it was early afternoon. How long had she been asleep?

“Don’t worry,” a voice said from across the room. “I’ve already sent a note to Captain Bane explaining that you won’t be in today, and before you argue, please remember that I am not above tying you to the bed to get my way.”

“As I well know,” Hurley laughed, watching with satisfaction as Sloane, crossing the room with two mugs of steaming tea, blushed all the way down to her collar.

When the tea was drunk and Hurley had allowed herself – rather too easily, she was afraid – to be convinced that one more day of rest wouldn’t be so bad, Sloane pulled back the blankets and slid beneath them, gently pushing Hurley onto her side and curling her larger frame around Hurley’s smaller one.

“You’ll catch whatever it is I have,” Hurley protested weakly, but her body was already fitting itself comfortably into the curve of Sloane’s embrace.

“If I haven’t caught it by now, I think I’m safe,” Sloane replied, and she pressed a light kiss into the halfling’s neck. “Now hush, and go back to sleep.”

Hurley was happy to oblige.


End file.
